My Summer Holidays Past and Present
The summer holidays are drawing to a close and my twin girls are preparing to start full time school. This all got me to thinking and reflecting on my own childhood holidays in comparison to my children’s. So tighten your seat belts this could get a bit bumpy on the emotional rollercoaster!
This summer we went to Majorca. This was the third time the twins had been on holiday abroad in their four short years of life. Certainly something I had never experienced. On the first of those three holidays I was lucky to have all of my five children with me which was a very special moment and one that will stay with me as one of my fondest memories as a parent. The second holiday was just my son and the twins, and this year it was just my wife, the twins and myself all three holidays were blissfully happy moments in my life.
All of this got me to reflect upon the holidays I went on as a child and one in particular when I was nine years old. On this particular holiday my parents were still together, but their marriage, I now realise was falling apart at the seams. Actually I think the holiday was designed to repair the marriage. Unfortunately the three children in the middle were just collateral damage.
My father who was an alcoholic and abusive man made a decision to take us to the Costa Brava in Spain which obviously he could afford to do because at that time he had a good job and knew somebody who owned an apartment which I’m sure he had a deal on.
The decision to drive, then hope on a ferry and drive though France down to Spain sounded like a good idea, and exciting to take in all the sights on the way, but as this holiday unfolds we would regret that decision he made.
We arrived for our two week holiday and the first couple of days were absolutely fine. Although now I realise there was an underlying tension between my parents.
It didn’t take long for my father to go on his first drinking spree, although I’m sure he was already drinking to some extent. On the third morning we all woke up to find my father in agony with his arm and shoulder as he had been out drinking and in his wisdom took the car and managed to crash it in the car park of the apartment. Thankfully it was ok to drive ,but somehow he had injured himself. The holiday was really beginning to look up. Yeh!
That day now keep in mind that I am only nine years old. My father thought it would be a good idea to take me on a pub crawl and to this day I remember vividly sitting there wanting my mum because my dad was getting incredibly drunk and as a nine year old in a foreign country I was frightened. Thankfully my mother, brother and sister found me and they just left my father to get completely drunk. Looking back it was probably a bad move.
The next time we saw him was in the early hours of the same day. My sister and I were sharing a bedroom and we were woken up by lots of shouting involving my mother, father and brother from the other room. The door to our room burst open with my father crashing in. I can still see his face at the bottom of the bed. I can still remember being rooted to the bed in total fear and hearing my sister screaming in the background. My father was an abusive, aggressive drunk and it was always impossible to tell what he would do. What seemed like an eternity, but in fact was most likely less than a minute. He was there at the bottom of bed smiling, but in a very sinister face which has been forever etched on my memory.
My brother burst in and proceeded to drag my father out. The door was shut and all my sister and I could hear was shouting and now I realise fighting after what seemed hours things went quiet and we fell back to sleep.
The next morning we woke and went into the room and found devastation. My father was not there, but my brother and mother were asleep. During all the arguing my brother had been pushed into a window and cut himself badly in the lower back.
As the holiday progressed it couldn’t have got any worse, but it didn’t get any better either. I suppose we were just counting down the days to get home, and that was going to be fun. Not!
As I said earlier my father had crashed the car while drunk and damaged his right arm which he simply couldn’t use, not to even hold the steering wheel and yes he was the only one who could drive.
The journey home involved my father holding the steering wheel and operating the pedals while my brother changed the gears. It was an absolute nightmare of a journey across Spain and France which took about two days.
This was the last holiday that as a child I had with my biological family. It has without question left a mark on me for many years after and even now I rarely think about it. Like a lot of my childhood memories which are better left behind writing them down for me closes the door once and for all.
When we finally arrived home my father left for good and that was the start of very dysfunctional father/son relationship, with little or no contact.
The legacy of this memory is that my father inadvertently taught me another valuable lesson about being a dad. If I go on holidays with my children I enjoy the time with them and have a lovely family holiday.
Family time on holidays with your children is the best time ever. It’s where you can relax and enjoy the excitement and fun that only children can bring.
